“So, how come you’re not falling asleep at the wheel?” I whispered, to keep from waking Marc. Normally he was a very sound sleeper, but I had no doubt that if he was ever going to wake without warning, it would be during a private conversation between me and Jace.

“He drove most of the way here.” Jace’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror.

“And you could sleep through that?”

Jace shrugged. “I figure if he’s planning to kill me, he’ll wait until he has enough justification to avoid the death penalty.” He was still smiling, but his eyes showed no humor. “So…how long do you think that’ll be?”

My hands went cold in spite of the heater blowing full blast, and I twisted to look at Marc again, to reassure myself that he really was sleeping. “Jace, I can’t do this right now.” My words came out so soft I could barely hear them, yet they left a bitter taste on my tongue.

“Just give me a date,” he whispered, sounding oddly…intense. “And I won’t mention it again until then.”

“You want to know when I’m going to tell him? You’re seriously asking me this now?” No amount of cautious whispering could soften my irritation. Marc was in the backseat!

“There will never be a good time to talk about this, Faythe,” Jace returned calmly, staring at the road. “We’re about to sneak into enemy territory, and as mad as it makes me that Calvin Malone owns everything that was once my father’s—” his wife, as well as the land “—it pisses Cal off worse to know my dad had it all first. He hates me for that, and if he finds us, he’ll kill me. And this may be petty of me, but I’d kind of like to know where we stand before I die, if that’s what’s in the cards.”

I sucked in a deep breath and held it, and when that wasn’t enough, I let it go slowly and pulled in one more. Jace wasn’t looking at me. He couldn’t. Or maybe he wouldn’t. I wasn’t being fair to either of them, and I damn well knew it. What I didn’t know was how to remedy that without hurting someone. Or—more likely—all of us.

In that moment, with Marc snoring softly behind us, and Jace staring at the road like nothing else existed while he waited for my reply, I wished I’d never let him kiss me. That I’d never kissed him back. I wished we’d been strong enough to deal with Ethan’s death without falling into each other physically. Without connecting on such a primal, emotional level.

If I’d never known what I was missing, surely this wouldn’t be so hard.

But that was a futile wish, worth less than every penny I’d wasted on fountains as a child. And even if I could undo what I’d done, I wasn’t convinced it would make any difference.

I didn’t feel something for Jace simply because I slept with him. The truth was that I slept with him because I felt something for him. Even if we’d had the willpower to resist physical comfort in such emotionally fragile states, I would still feel something for Jace. And eventually something else would happen to weaken our willpower, and the result would be the same.

Only it would be infinitely worse if it had happened after I’d married Marc.

“Faythe?” Jace practically breathed my name, and I heard the filament-thin edge of panic in his voice. He couldn’t interpret my silence and had assumed the worst-case scenario. “What are you thinking?”

I sighed, a fragile sound that was little more than the slide of air between my lips. “I’m thinking that I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That makes two of us.”

I glanced at him in surprise, and he shot me a grin that was almost…shy. “What, you think I planned this?” I shrugged helplessly, and he turned back to the road. “Okay, maybe while you guys were broken up, I thought about it occasionally. Or more like constantly. But now? I like my teeth in my mouth and my face intact, thank you. I know what this means for me, and I know what it means for Marc. And I know what it means for the Pride.”

“Jace…” I started, but he shook his head.

“Let me finish.”

After a second of silence, I nodded hesitantly.

“If I love you more than you love me, I’m as good as dead. Yet I can’t make myself take it back. I can’t just walk away from you, because every time you pass by me without smiling, without touching my hand, or at least making eye contact, it feels like I’m dying inside. And I’m pretty sure that hurts worse than whatever Marc would do to me. Whatever your dad would do.

“Hell, Faythe, I’m pretty sure that never touching you again would hurt worse than the nastiest death Calvin could think up for me.”

Nineteen

We arrived at the Roswell airport with an hour to spare, and since we had no luggage to check, we made a quick trip into a gift shop for an extra T-shirt and toiletry essentials for me—the guys had what little they needed in their backpacks—then picked up a new cell phone for Jace at a kiosk near our gate. Our plane left on time, and after a short layover in Dallas, we settled in for a longer flight to Lexington.

The plane had a row of three seats on one side of the aisle, and two on the other. Jace and I had adjoining seats on the two-seat side, with Marc right in front of us. But when we boarded the plane, Marc took Jace’s window seat, and tossed an offhand gesture toward the one he’d passed over.

Jace scowled but took the seat in front of him without comment. For which I was endlessly grateful.